Boswell Is The First Of Biographers.

The Saviour Of Mankind Himself, In Whose Blameless Life Malice Could Find No Act To Impeach, Has Been Called In Question For Words Spoken.

Cut Off My Head, And Singular I Am, Cut Off My Tail, And Plural I Appear; Although My Middle's Left, There's Nothing There! What Is My Head Cut Off? A Sounding Sea; What Is My Tail Cut Off? A Rushing River; And In Their Mingling Depths I Fearless Play, Parent Of Sweetest Sounds, Yet Mute Forever.

Those Who Seem To Load The Public Taste Are, In General, Merely Outrunning It In The Direction Which It Is Spontaneously Pursuing.

Those Who Have Read History With Discrimination Know The Fallacy Of Those Panegyrics And Invectives Which Represent Individuals As Effecting Great Moral And Intellectual Revolutions, Subverting Established Systems, And Imprinting A New Character On Their Age. The Difference Between One Man And Another Is By No Means So Great As The Superstitious Crowd Suppose.

Every Generation Enjoys The Use Of A Vast Hoard Bequeathed To It By Antiquity, And Transmits That Hoard, Augmented By Fresh Acquisitions, To Future Ages.